Home for Christmas
by graysonsflight
Summary: After Dick left in July, Tim kept coming up with dates he knew his older brother would be back by. While his first three predictions came up short, he's certain of this one. Tim is positive Dick would never miss Christmas. Tim is so sure he's even got Barbara ready to believe in a Christmas miracle. (Batfam week 2017/Separation)


**AN:** Hey there :) So this is a part of the Lost and Found Universe, but you can enjoy it as a stand alone. Key points you need about this universe: when Dick leaves at the end of Season Two of Young Justice, he runs away to Europe. At the beginning of this story, he's been gone for about five months without a trace.

 **Home For Christmas**

"Count on Me"

Barbara loosened her scarf from around her neck as she made her way up the back stairs. This was her second favorite entrance to Stately Wayne Manor, and this one did take considerably more effort than her underground favorite – but it was more appropriate for today.

She had caught a bus down to the precinct, kissed her father goodbye as she'd taken his keys. It wasn't like he was going to need them; he was Gotham City Police Commissioner, and it was Christmas Eve. Ever since she was thirteen and had, as gently as she could, let him know she didn't believe in Santa Claus, Commissioner Gordon had been voluntarily taking Christmas shifts in Gotham so that his officers with younger children could have the night off.

It was a year later that Barbara started getting Christmas invitations to Wayne Manor. Being best friends with Richard Grayson had its perks: Alfred's cooking, a massive surround sound entertainment system playing every single Claymation Christmas movie ever, and a guest room decorated by Alfred just for her. And when she was fifteen, and had figured out the family secret, it meant flying over the roofs of Gotham and coming back to the manor for Alfred's hot chocolate and cookies until she and Dick fell asleep on the couch, and her father would come to pick her up in the morning, blissfully believing his daughter had spent the whole night making gingerbread instead of helping him to make Gotham streets safer.

Barbara rang the bell with a sigh; she entered her passcode when the keypad presented itself, and let herself into the mudroom off the upstairs garage. She was slipping out of her boots when Alfred made it to her.

"Ms. Gordon," he greeted warmly, but his smile was just a little off. Barbara shook her head.

"Hey, Alfred," she smiled. "Tim didn't tell you, did he?" The older Englishman cleared his throat, and reached to take her coat.

"Of course," he lied. "You're joining us for dinner." Barbara placed her hand on his arm as he hung up her coat.

"I can go, Alfred. I knew that this would be hard without…" But the man shook his head.

"Most certainly not," he interrupted. "Obviously, it is important to Master Tim, and it is always a pleasure to have you."

"Is that Barbara?" Tim's voice called from within the house. "I knew I could count on you, Babs! I'm in the kitchen – a batch of cookies just cooled down enough to frost!"

"He's been decorating all morning," Alfred confided, his eyes looking sad. Barbara slide her feet into the warm slippers that were waiting under a bench for her – doing her best to ignore the other pairs left in the basket.

"I thought he didn't want…?" she trailed off as she followed him.

"He has decided that it would be better for the house to be decorated and ready, just incase." They turned their way into the kitchen, Barbara taking in the organized madness in front of her.

"And Bruce?" she whispered, leaning in to be heard over the Christmas music playing from hidden speakers.

"The office, I'm afraid," Alfred responded, not taking his eyes off of Tim's back as the younger teen meticulously decorated the cookies in front of him. "I believe he'll be home very late tonight." Barbara nodded and plastered a million dollar smile onto her face before striding into the kitchen.

"Hey, Timmy, leave any for me?" Tim turned to her with a smile, handing her a frosting knife.

"Yeah, we've got three dozen more to get through before we can get to decorating the houses," he told her.

"Houses?" Barbara asked. "Tim, how many are we doing?" Tim just shrugged, already going back to his work, carefully affixing candied buttons to the cutouts in front of him.

"A few," he said. "I just want there to be enough." Barbara bit her lip as she watched him.

"Enough for?" She wanted him to stop and look at her. She wanted him to talk to her, instead of flying manically through the confections.

"Look, Babs," he said, far too serious for his fifteen years, and frosting covered fingers. "I know what I said before, I know I thought he'd be back for his birthday." Barbara felt her stomach tighten. After Dick had left, Tim had started proposing likely dates he'd be back by. First, had been Tim's birthday; he had spent the whole day refusing to do anything, assuring anyone who would listen that Dick would be there. At that point, Dick had only been gone for a few weeks, and everyone had been willing to wait with Tim. The second date Tim was sure Dick would never miss had been Barbara's birthday, but September had come and gone without a trace of him. It was after that that Barbara had stopped hoping the first Boy Wonder would just show up on her windowsill.

Next, Tim had been sure that Dick would be back in time for his own birthday, but that too had been a bust. Tim had spent the day in his room, refusing to come out for patrol. When Barbara had checked in on him two days later after a mission with the team, he had presented her with his newest assertions; Dick loved Christmas. Dick had made all of them, Bruce and Barbara and Tim —and even Jason, when he was alive— celebrate a holiday none of them had liked before. His enthusiasm had been contagious, and one by one, they had all given in to him. Thus, Tim proposed, there was no way that Dick would miss Christmas with them.

Barbara shook her head hard to pull herself back the present and catch the end of a theory she had heard no less than three times before.

"So he'll be here," Tim assured her, his smile just the tiniest bit uncertain. "We just need to get everything ready."

"Okay," Barbara said, smiling the best she could even as her stomach bottomed out. She couldn't hope the way Tim did – it hurt too much.

The two of them spent the early afternoon finishing up the cookies Alfred had made for them to decorate. It was easy to see who had decorated which ones; where Tim's cookies were precise with clean lines of icing, Barbara's were messy – and she had done everything she could to avoid the blue sprinkles that taunted her from the counter.

"All right," Tim concluded, finally satisfied. "Next we've got the tree."

"Shouldn't we wait for Bruce?" Barbara asked as she followed Tim towards the family's main room. Tim barely spared her an eye-roll as he started opening the ornament boxes.

"Babs, please. He's going on patrol before he'll come home tonight."

"Don't you want to head out with him?" she questioned. "Maybe we should eat something now, and we'll be good to head out and—"

"No, Barb," Tim cut her off with finality. "I'm not going out tonight. I don't want to risk missing it when he gets here."

"Tim," Barbara tried. "What if…you have to be open to the possibility that…"

"No, I don't," Tim said, turning his back to her and starting to place the glass figurines and bobbles onto the tree. "He'll be here, Barbara, I have to believe that." Barbara sighed heavily, but bent down to pick up an angel from the box. She moved to the tree and held it out to Tim.

"Okay, so where should this one go?" They spent the next hour and a half decorating the massive evergreen, stopping only when Alfred came in offering sandwiches and a pair of their frosted sugar cookies. After a little prodding from Tim, Alfred stayed to help them finish the tree.

The three worked together on dinner, much to Alfred's chagrin. None of the kids had ever been particularly proficient in the kitchen, but he at least never had to worry about Barbara and Tim actually sticking to a recipe.

"We need to make sure we make enough," Tim kept saying. Alfred would only nod, but Barbara kept looking at the clock.

Even though she wasn't really expecting him to walk through the door, Barbara couldn't help the small sliver of hope she didn't want to feel. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember other Christmases, like the one where Dick had convinced her and Jason to have a snowball fight until all three of them had blue lips and runny noses. Or last year's Christmas where he'd taken her into the city to go ice-skating, bought them both cups of steaming hot coffee, and slipped a silver chain around her neck with a beautiful little bird. He'd kissed her forehead and whispered that he loved her knowing she couldn't say it back, understanding that she was still too scared of being hurt.

Barbara brought the back of her hand up to wipe at her eyes before she realized she was crying. She felt the bird pendent pressing against her chest, and it made her breath catch. Tim was too busy talking to himself to notice, but Alfred squeezed her shoulder and handed her a handkerchief without comment. Barbara smiled at him gratefully.

"Alright, Tim – dinner's in the oven, time for a movie," she announced, already making her way to the theater room. Tim followed without complaint and they plowed their way through _Jack Frost_ and _Rudolph_ before Alfred came to tell them dinner was ready.

After a little pleading on Tim's part they ate dinner not at the table, but in the theater room like heathens. When they were finished, Barbara helped Alfred clean up in the kitchen, while Tim sprawled out on the floor and put on _The Santa Clause_. He had told her he was saving Dick's favorite for last. Barbara had to bite her tongue to stop from telling Tim what she thought of _It's a Wonderful Life._

"When do you think he'll give up?" Barbara asked Alfred as she handed him a plate to dry.

"I pray he doesn't," the Englishman responded with a sigh. "I'd much rather he keep hoping than become despondent like Master Bruce."

Barbara considered this, as she popped a leftover peppermint into her mouth.

"How is Bruce doing?"

Alfred sniffed. "He does a job of hiding it," he conceded. "But he is still spending most nights down at the computer." Barbara nearly dropped the plate she was washing.

"He told me to let it go," she said. "He told me to just let Dick come back when he was ready…" Alfred chuckled a little.

"And have you?"

"No, but—"

"How are you handling things, Ms. Gordon?" Alfred asked, cutting her off. "I've missed seeing you as often."

"It's hard," Barbara admitted after a moment, shifting the mint from one side to the other. She looked up and met the older man's eyes. "I miss him."

"As do we all," Alfred said, reaching over to take the dishtowel from her hand. "Come, let's go join Master Tim."

They both went back in and sat down, Barbara on the couch behind Tim, and Alfred in his usual chair, back by the door with a reading lamp. All three of them stayed like that as the hours passed, Tim finally giving up and crawling back onto the couch, his head resting on Barbara's leg.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking both exhausted and crushed. "I thought…"

"I know," Barbara assured him, pulling the blanket up around him. "It's okay Tim." She rubbed circles into his back as he pretended not to cry, until they both fell asleep.

The weight of a warm hand on her shoulder startled Barbara out of her dream. For the length of a heartbeat she let herself believe. His name was on her lips as she turned her head, careful not to disturb Tim, and her hope fell just as quickly when she locked eyes with Bruce.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered, handing her a glass before moving to sit on the other side of Tim – who slept on, too spent from the day. Barbara brought the glass up to her nose, inhaling deeply; the scent of an incredibly aged bourbon meet her senses. She watched as Bruce took a long slip from his matching glass.

"You remember I'm only nineteen, right?" she asked, watching him from over the rim. Bruce nodded slowly, looking more tired than Barbara had seen in a while.

"I also know," he started, "That you and Dick started breaking into my liquor cabinet when you were sixteen." Barbara blushed deeply at that, quickly taking a sip so that she wouldn't have to answer. "Alfred's made up your bed in your guestroom," Bruce continued, letting the ice in his glass tip against the side. Barbara couldn't help but notice he'd poured himself significantly more than he'd poured for her.

"I miss him," she said before she'd fully committed to the action. Bruce stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth to look at her. He nodded slowly, eyes traveling down towards Tim.

"Thank you," he said finally. "For staying with Tim. I'm sure it helped him." Barbara wasn't so sure that was true, but she didn't think she could open her mouth without saying something Bruce very obviously didn't want to hear. He finished the last of his drink with one long swallow before standing back up. He smiled at her sadly and nodded his head. "Goodnight, Barbara, Merry Christmas."

Barbara watched him go, noticing that he was heading down to the cave and not upstairs to his bedroom. She finished her drink, eyes closing as the warmth spread through her. Carefully, she reached over the sleeping Tim to take the remote and, against her better judgment, she turned the screen to _It's a Wonderful Life_ and hit play.

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! The plan here is for this to be a collection of Christmas One-shots for the Lost and Found Universe. I've been planning this story for about two years and finally go around to getting it down. I am sustained by your reviews.


End file.
